


Drowning on Land

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair being Alistair, Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish
Summary: Alistair makes a careless mistake that nearly costs the Warden her life.





	

Alistair had no trouble finding the river near camp. It had long since overrun its boundaries, full of melting snow from the mountains and warm rain from the recent storms. The sound of running water was a soothing distraction from his aches and bruises. Carrying the water skins to the river had been a simple task, but he did not look forward to hauling them back full.

His fellow Warden was already there, standing in the middle of the river. The water coursed over her knees, one of them skinned and red. She had pulled her robe up to mid-thigh and tied a large knot with it on one side to keep it in place out of the water. He jerked his eyes away. It was not indecent, but it was certainly more of a woman, especially this woman, than he had ever seen before. 

Her staff lay abandoned on the riverbank, cast carelessly into a grassy patch as if it were no more than a toy. Her hands floated above the water, fingers moving to coax the water up out of its natural path. It coiled and moved as her hands commanded, sometimes swirling around her in a gentle loop or arcing away when she snapped her arm out.

He unloaded the water skins from his shoulders, not paying mind to where they fell, too engrossed with her movements and the way the element obeyed her subtle commands. He had seen his fair share of magic in his training. And he had seen more than his fair share of her magic in their battles together against Darkspawn. But, he had never seen a magic like this. This magic was more like art. It was like dancing. The water was her partner, complimenting her and highlighting her every movement. It was mesmerizing. She was mesmerizing.

She noticed his approach and offered a smile. He was staring, more than likely with a big, dumb gaping mouth, and he scrambled to smile back without letting his eyes drift back down to her pale legs. He cleared his throat before speaking and forced himself to focus.

“Looks like I found you. Terrible place to hide… standing in the middle of a river, you know.” Ah, humor. That comfortable groove.

She didn’t answer him, but her smile turned wicked. Her eyes narrowed, as if she were calculating something in her mind. He knew that look. He knew this was trouble. He should do something to save himself, but he was frozen there, no shield, no weapon, no wits. He took a step back, glancing from side to side for some sort of cover, but none was offered. The water that had been so gentle in her hands reared back like a snake poised to strike. She flicked both hands out and the water jet forward, splashing over him hard enough to knock him back into the mud.

He scrubbed his arm over his eyes to clear them. Loud raucous laughter erupted from the mage. He must have been quite the sight sitting there in the muddy soil, soaked through, hair dripping water into his eyes.

He grinned up at her, taking in the sound of her laugh. “How long have you been standing there hoping I’d come down here so you could do that?”

“Too long!” She wailed, nearly doubling over.

He began to pick himself up with care, nearly slipping in the mud while he tried to find his footing. “Mages. Can’t even splash someone properly! Had to use magic. That isn’t fair at all, you know?”

“It isn’t?” Her laughter had settled into giggles and she propped her hands on her hips.

“It isn’t.” He mirrored her pose for a moment, before stepping forward into the river. The water that hit above her knees struck him at the calves, allowing him to meet her in several long strides. She turned to flee from him, tossing a grin over her shoulder and throwing out her arms to balance in the lazily moving water. He overtook her in a matter of steps and grabbed her by the waist, hauling her up onto his shoulder, laughter squealing from her.  
“Maker! Put me down, Alistair! I’m not furniture!” She kicked her feet in the air, attempting to twist from his grip. She was by no means weak, he had watched her club many Darkspawn with her staff when needed, but her smaller build and leaner muscles made it easy for him to keep her from escaping.

“I applaud your effort. But, if you need a bigger splash, you just throw the person in,” he stated, as if reciting a rather dry part of the Chant.

“Wait!”

He turned and smoothly tossed her into a deeper part of the river, a boisterous grin meeting his lips. He crossed his arms with pride. How often had he played this game in Redcliffe with other children from the village? After any bit of play or training a jump in the lake or stream was a welcome reprieve. All fair play. Even growing up in the Chantry a dip in the river would no doubt end with someone unceremoniously dunked. Templar recruits were just as mischievous as any other child. It was a childhood rite of passage. 

His pride melted into terror. Her childhood rites of passage had all occurred inside of a tower with bathtubs no deeper than your hip. Her childhood rites of passage were all observed by Templars who counted on her ignorance in case she ever escaped.  
He yelled out her name, lurching into the water in the direction he had thrown her. She had not surfaced and he could not see in past the rippling of the waves as the river made its way down stream. He continued to call out to her, throwing his arms into the water to try and find her by touch. The water splashed around him as he tried to shove his way through it, only making his efforts to see into it worse. 

What if the water had a current beneath it and she had been washed away from him? What if she had hit her head on a hidden rock? A distant part of his mind attempted to alert him that panicking like this was not going to help. But he could not ignore it. He choked on water splashed up his nose, sobbed on calls for her that went unanswered, and clawed at the water as if it were a blanket he could tear away and find her beneath. How could he have been so careless with her? So stupid? She wasn’t a recruit he could toss about because he was bigger and stronger.

A gasp behind him cut off the remainder of his self-berating. He spun around to find her, eyes full of fear, but reaching for him. He scooped her up out of the water, careful of her flailing attempts to swim and tried to hold her up as far out of the water as he could. She tossed her arms around his neck, fingers digging in to cling to him. He could hear her gasping for breath, wheezing around the water no doubt caught in her lungs. It tore at the already deep trench of guilt in his heart.  
“It’s alright! I’ve got you. It’s alright now,” he repeated over and over, half to calm her and half to assure himself of the fact. He tried to make his voice sound steady. He tried to make his voice sound confident, even if he felt only like a stupid boy again. Say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, nearly kill your only friend. It’s your way, Alistair.

At the riverbank he continued past the muddy edging and knelt in some of the taller grass to set her down. He felt the tenseness in her muscles relax and her head sagged against his shoulder. She no longer clung to him as if he might float away with the water, but did not let go of him. He remained beside her, glad to be able to hold onto her for a bit longer, though he did not deserve it after what he had just done.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” He let his head drop forward, unable to look at her. A drop of water ran down the bridge of his nose and clung to the end. “I could have killed you.” He gripped her a bit harder at the thought, pulling his arm free from under her legs to wrap around her slighter frame. How many things had tried to kill them? How many things had tried to take her away and he had almost done the job for them? Why had he been so careless? So unthinking?

“Maker, I’m so sorry. Morrigan’s right. I am such an idiot.” His voice cracked as he pulled himself away from her. The nuns at the Chantry were right. The Arlessa was right. Morrigan was right. He was an absolute fool, unable to be serious, unable to use his head beyond a place to display his hair. And here he had almost killed one of the few friends he had left to count. He did not deserve that friendship, not when it had nearly cost her, her life.

She surprised him by not letting him pull away, turning her hold into something of an embrace. He sat there, arms tense, hands balled into fists of anger at his complete stupidity. He kept his head down, refusing to meet her eyes, knowing that if he looked at her he might see disgust or pity and it would break him.

“Alistair…” Her voice was soft, patient, and a bit of a croak. He winced at the sound, turning his head away. He wished she would let him go so he could sulk off to berate himself in peace. “Alistair, it was an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” He grit his teeth, forcing the words out through them. Her gentle tone was only making him hate himself more. She should be screaming at him, she should be pushing him away. “An accident is – is eating Zevran’s cooking, not almost killing someone.”

“You didn’t almost…”

“I did.” He snapped, a severe bite to his tongue. More regret filled him. She was trying to forgive him and he was being sharp with her. She was trying to console him, when he should be the one groveling for forgiveness. He wanted to leap to his feet and walk away, to stalk off into the forest and find the nearest hole to crawl into. But the thought of leaving her shivering and alone by the river was too much and rooted him in place. He had already betrayed her once today.

She sat up fully now and forced him into a fierce hug. He refused it for several agonizing moments, torn between a strong pull to feel her alive and whole and the still festering loathing he felt for his stupid actions. He tried to remain stoic, to remain tense, but when she propped her chin up on his shoulder and curled her fingers into his back he gave in, slipping his arms around her with something of a cut-off sob.

“Why are you doing this?” He whispered into her hair, clenching his eyes closed to keep the sting of tears at bay.

“You were trying to include me. And I don’t want to be treated like glass just because I’m a mage.” Her voice remained low, but grew in strength. “And because you’re my friend. Friends forgive.” 

Whenever he thought of her, he always thought of her as a friend, but they had never spoken it aloud. It had been so long since he had heard someone declare such a thing. And to say it with such conviction left him weak and breathless. He hugged her tighter, eliciting a little squeak of surprise at his sudden change in demeanor.

He swore then, swore to the Maker, swore to anyone that would listen that he would be more responsible, that he would not endanger her so needlessly.

Alistair gripped her close, unwilling to let go and turn her back to facing the perils their mission required just yet, even if those perils right now were only setting up a tent at camp. She sat, not relenting her hold on him, her face turned into his neck so he could feel her warm breath against his skin. She seemed to need this as much as he did. Why had it taken such a dramatic event for the two to find comfort in each other? They had such similar backgrounds; cast off by their parents, raised by strangers, two unwanted souls rescued by the Wardens now here drowning on land. He vowed to be more forthcoming with her. She deserved more than just a friend. She deserved a confidant, a family, someone to watch her back as he knew she watched his.

As it grew dark he could feel the temperature beginning to drop. It would do them no good to sit shivering while not far into the forest the warm fires of their camp stood burning.

He pulled back from her and forced his most charming grin onto his lips. He had to make it right between them, had to smooth things over so they need not be awkward together. He savored their banter, savored their talks by the fire, and savored the way she always bid him goodnight with a little smile he liked to imagine was reserved just for him. Something about it always assured him of his place, even when he felt like a gangly boy trailing along heroes.

“I guess I need to pick a less extravagant way to flirt with you.”

He was rewarded with that grin of hers he loved to see, full of joy with just the right amount of wicked intent.

“I’d say so. You know, the last boy that liked me just pulled my hair.”

“What was his name? I’ll beat him up at lunch for you.” He grinned back at her and picked her right up off the ground as he rose to his feet. He set her down and then stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back off his forehead, suddenly shy at their close behavior now that they stood facing each other. She stared up at him for a long moment. It was a searching, honest look that made him feel like squirming. He cleared his throat of the awkward frog settling there and picked up the waterskins to fill.

“So, uh… what do we tell the others?” He glanced back at her from the corner of his eye, unsure how to face their companions with his actions.

She picked up her staff from its castoff location in the grass and responded with a simple shrug. “We tell them you fell into the river and I had to save you.”

He opened his mouth to tell her no one would believe such a story, but then stopped and snapped his mouth shut.

“Morrigan will love it.”


End file.
